Young Man Blues
by Jimmy Jazz
Summary: (Finished!) I give up on summaries, it's impossible for this story, this is a story that Bebop fans should read -- plain and simple, that's who it relates to. (Ok...I'm not gonna beg but please review if you bother to read it)
1. Just Another Drag

I'm not really gonna go extremely in depth about this story, I don't really feel like spoiling all the relevant parts. I just want to basically say that despite the introduction – it's not really a Spike survival story, well in any traditional sense (that will make sense later I hope), and I also want to say that the added character is by no means a self portrait, (although by saying that I've planted the idea in your head) but in the first chapter none of this will really matter anyway.

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Yong Man Blues

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_Why in Gods name am I still alive? What happened to the dream? It was supposed to end. All things stop and start – don't they? Isn't that just part of being human? I was ready – I was done with it all – the book had been closed. Here I am though, trying to write chapters to a finished book. When you've been dead for so long – it's hard for being alive to mean anything. That's just the problem though isn't it? I'm just watching a dream aren't I? Nothing means anything._

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Just Another Drag

Jet looked at his watch, he'd been waiting for hours, well maybe 20 minutes, but when you're waiting – just flat out _waiting_ – everything seemed that way. Everything took longer these days. Before it was all a blur, every day crashed into the next, no peace, no sleep, a calm moment was unnoticed in-between the chaos. He always thought of it as a pain in the ass, stressful and irritating, but to be fair it was damn appealing compared to all this damn well – _waiting._ That was post-spike life in a nutshell anyway – _a drag_ – a slow dirge – a slow steady wait –a drag from a cigarette, a drag on his mind, a drag in his steps, one big drain on everything. Before when the shipped was packed, no matter how dull it seemed to get, there was always the squirming sensation of mobile life. It could have been Ed's spastic illogical ramblings mixed with what ever level of visual absurdities spat out of her computer, Ein's chattering and timed barks, the damn Wench kvetching non-stop about the most trivial of issues, another "plan" or lack of one from Spike which inevitably sent the whole thing spinning, and more often then not all these things at once. Truth is he fucking missed this silly shit – that was _content_ – social ballast, the _real_ stuff – what really made up days and inevitably a man's life. He was the only one who had and sense of calm – or at least desired it. However, he was now learning as much as he begged for peace and quiet – that he didn't mean much when it finally came. As he sank into the end of his thirties he was beginning to understand who he was, the caretaker, the nurturer, the clean up crew -- but all the slobs were gone now. Who was he supposed to clean up after? It's easy dreaming about all that silly shit; the "peace" that'll come when no one needs your services any more, when you'll be "free" of the responsibility and pressure, get some peace and quiet. Truth be told though, it's lonely and boring having no purpose to perform, and he hated admitting it, but not being needed was pretty damn frightening when you thought about it. 

It was all gone now – and there wasn't much he could think about it, let alone say or do. Ed and Ein had taken off with that madman AppleDairy or whatever the hell he went by, and after Spike burnt out into glorious ball of death like he always wanted, well, Faye sure as hell didn't stick around long, and for once in his life – Jet just let go. It was all over, the ride was fun while it lasted – but things have to come to an end. 

So here he was waiting, for another god damn bounty, it wasn't like he had went out and got a grey flannel suit and a 9-5 job, he still carried the same resume, but he was moving slower. He was going for smaller fries, easy catch usually, shit that Spike wouldn't have bothered with, but without all the backup and extra hands he wasn't going for the huge fish anymore. He was putting away for retirement now—cause he was alone and he wasn't getting any younger. It'd been six months since the shit got blown to pieces and he hadn't even left mars. He would like to check up on them sometime – the rest of the gang, but he knew in the end it was all over. There was nothing to be done though, all he could do was to "keep on keeping on" as they say. 

It was hitting close to four o'clock now, the son of a bitch was supposed to walk by these districts, if he wanted to sell his loot – he just had to come by here, and night was out of the question, that's when the other gangsters would be looking for him. If he didn't show soon, he could forget the 100k. Fortunately though he didn't have wait too much longer, the blue hooded sweatshirt he had been waiting for became quite clear in the corner of his eye. He matched the image perfectly, the same crumpled hair – saggy jeans, and of course the extremely unfashionable blue hooded sweatshirt. The only question now was how to take him in. Now mater-of-factly the best way to do this would be to pose as the fence and take him in like that, but Jet knew as well as any chump on the street that he looked like the law, even though he wasn't anymore. So his best bet was the clear-cut approach. He smiled chuckling to himself as he walked towards the blue hooded sweatshirt. As he made his way across the man he whispered as lightly as some one of Jet's character could:

"Johnson?" he quietly asked. 

The man stopped for a minute and began to turn around, that was enough conformation for Jet – his good arm swung back in a smooth motion, the blue-hooded chump had hardly completed the 180 turn when he felt the heavy blow of Jet's clenched fist collide evenly with the side of his cheekbones. His perceptions, along with his balance, did a nosedive into asphalt as he fell back on to the ground. Jet loomed over the disgruntled figure with the barrel of the gun aimed casually at him. 

"This is the part where you cooperate, and I take you in okay?" Jet said in his best tough and cynical voice. 

The hood was still rubbing his head and generally ignoring the severity of the situation when Jet noticed something again, coming in from the side, fumbling awkwardly and franticly, confused and frightened, but with guilt, and no doubt reaching for his gun. _Shit, since when did these chumps start bringing along backup?_ Jet made the first move that he could think to make, taking a quick step forward he swung his metal elbow straight into his bumbling opponents face, the cracking noise followed by a gush of blood and a few flying teeth would have made him wince in sympathy but he was too preoccupied. He didn't bother to think if there was a third -- he just hit the ground as a few bullets whizzed over him. Gathering his surroundings as quick as he could he saw the blue hood trotting as fast as he could with a suit, who had squeezed off a few more rounds for cover fire. He took a few hopeless shots off with his pistol as they dashed towards the alley. _Damn it_, he thought to himself, this was shit, the chump who'd felt his metal arm looked pretty done for the day, but the target, along with the other half of his support, and who from the looks of it seemed to be the only competent one, were taking off. Nothing was working, _again,_ it was like old times really, and Jet sorta wanted to smile. But he shook his head and pushed himself to his feat quickly as he grumbled to himself, 

"You don't let go remember!"

He dashed as best as he could after them knowing full well it was likely a hopeless pursuit. The corner market he had hoped to find them at was located in an slightly off center part of town, and thankfully for that reason crowds were light, unfortunately he realized as he chased them along the boardwalk, that were more turns into alleys then parts that needed repair on his ship, and that was not a comforting thought on a lot of levels. The chump and his suit buddy were moving pretty fast, faster then he had been prepared to deal with today, he reluctantly admitted as he dashed behind them. Now naturally some of these turn offs were likely dead ends, but some were probably a damn good escape for them, but considering that they knew this neighborhood better then Jet, he was pretty much at their mercy. Seeing the well dressed man swing his gun backwards to set off some deterrent, Jet dropped behind a few crates as the bullets whipped by. He got himself back up only in time to see them dash into an ally followed by there pattering footsteps against the wooden ground. Shit, he'd lost them; waste of another day… but by some ungodly stroke of luck the footsteps stopped. The first thing he saw was the chump in the blue hood fly out of the alleyway landing back on the boardwalk with a thump, followed by a loud groan. Next thing was the clink on the ground and the following skid as the silver pistol of the suit slid down onto the street too. It's owner began to cautiously back out of the alleyway with his fists bawled up, prepared to throw a blow. The man who followed him however was not so well dressed, his hair was scraggly and somewhat matted at the end, his pants were wrinkled and hung awfully loose, and the baggy cord shirt on him looked even more warn. The man looked pretty young twenty, maybe twenty-two? Maybe not even that? He'd have passed nicely for a bum if he had a beard and 20 more years. 

Whatever little Jet was able to discern about him in those few moments was quickly made irrelevant by a much more clear observation; man could this guy hit hard. He had been standing across from the man in the suit, staring at him, motionless, waiting for some kind of response, however when none came he made his first move so fast that Jet was thankful he didn't blink. His casual stance had flowed so quickly into a right uppercut that it didn't seem like there had been any transition at all, the suit's head dropped back and the rest of his body likely would have as well had he not caught a left leg in his lower stomach the following instant. Hopping back on to his left leg, his attacker made a full turn smashing his right leg straight into the chest of the suit, sending him sprawling backwards. The scraggly dressed man reacted even quicker, lunging forward and catching the suit by his tie and yanking him back towards him sending him a fist followed by an elbow with the same arm that held his necktie. Using his free hand he grabbed the suits left arm and sliding down slowly, flipped him over his shoulders severing any last hope of resistance from the foe as the suit hit the ground with an ominous thud. He held himself there for a while, still in completion of the throw, clearly some martial arts move, and now just standing observing his own form. Damn it looked cool, Jet thought, Spike used to do that shit too – just sorta stand there after he beat the shit out of somebody. He shook his head in irritation for thinking about him again, and began to walk towards the scruffy looking man, or really more like a kid, _a punk-ass kid really_. He was stopped in his tracks when he saw the "punk-ass kid's" rubber sole to his warn boot smack into the well dressed man's head, making sure when he woke up, well if he ever woke up, he'd have one hell of a headache. Jet finally reached him with some reluctance but he really didn't know where to begin.

"Damn…" he muttered to himself scratching his head.

"Yeah I thought you'd appreciate it," the kid said, seeming a little relieved, Jet couldn't help but be a little surprised, his voice was deep enough to match his toughness, but it contained a surprisingly level of warmth and inflection considering how he introduced himself, "I was waiting for you to get here, I _would_ like some answers."  
"Answers?" Jet asked, confused not so much by the question, or what he meant, but that this kid was implying they knew each other.

"Yeah," he said suddenly and harshly, "about how I got…" he trailed off catching a glimpse of Jet's puzzled look.

"What?" asked Jet again, this time with a little more force.

The scraggly dressed kid fumbled around some words for a while, crouching down in frustration and smacking his knees with his fists and shaking his head, till he stood up straight and finally spoke concisely:

"Sorry man, I thought you were somebody I else I guess, I dunno what's wrong with me I can't seem to remember to much of anything these days, hell I'm not even sure who I am!" he seemed to be smiling a bit now.

"Amnesia?" Jet asked, not really going for this story.

"That or a _real_ bad hangover, I guess," the scraggly kid answered. 

"Uh huh," Jet said chuckling, "I'm not really buying into this one."

"What's the difference to you?" he asked.

"Fair point," Jet conceded, "So you another cowboy?" he asked.

"Not really, what were these guys worth to you?" he questioned Jet, getting more interested.

"Uh," Jet sighed, he was basically going have to hand this one over to the punk ass kid, "Well the guy in the blue sweatshirt was maybe 100k, and if that suit's the Fence like I think he is, and plus the chump I nabbed down the road, your looking at well --hopefully twice that." 

"Hrmm, I've always been a fan of simple math," he said, "Eh' how's about – we go fifty-fifty on this one?"

_Fifty-Fifty? _He would have considered himself lucky had this kid offered him thirty percent his way – this punk had done all the _real _work, and he was offering him _half_ the reward! Jet let out a heartier grin than had escaped his lips since he laughed his head off with Spike on the last evening. 

"Alright!" he said chuckling, "You've got yourself a deal!"

"Cool, we'll half to do the accounting from your ship," he said laughing a little too, he tugged his rags for clothes "As you can see I _lack_ that sorta equipment around here."

Jet chuckled to himself again; this was turning out to be an okay day after all.

"Sure man," he said laughing some more, but then he stopped dead in his tracks, this kid had something more fishy than just the smell of his clothes going on, "My ship? Exactly what the hell do you mean?" This punk knew shit that as far as Jet was concerned, he shouldn't.

The kid went wide-eyed for a little bit, but it passed pretty quickly and went to a smile.

"Don't all you chumps have one?" he asked.

Jet shrugged he didn't really know what to make of this kid, or what to believe, he seemed more than a little weird, but surprisingly good hearted, and hell, _generous _too! There wasn't much explanation for his strange moments, but they didn't seem to pose much threat, and he was getting too old to regret things.

"I still don't buy it," Jet shrugged, "But whatever, let's go." He said as he reached for his handcuffs to collect the bounties.

"Like I said before man, what's the difference to you?" The kid was smiling again, grinning even, "but you've got to do me a favor."

Jet glared a bit, _now he was worried._

"Huh and what's that?"

"Well I'm gonna need to borrow some cash for a haircut and maybe something to wear that doesn't smell like rotten fish," he said grinning more and more like a child,   
"If that's cool with you?"

Once again Jet couldn't help but to laugh.


	2. Too Many Coincidences

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Ok chapter 2 up, still trying to figure out why I loose a lot of my formatting. I would like to give thanks for the two reviews I got, seriously better than none, but I am kinda concerned about the statement "Eager, Don't disapoint me…" I have kinda definite plans for this story, and they might very well not be what people like, but oh well. That being said, I'd speculate that I'll write about two more longish chapters, and then maybe return to a more traditional work – I dunno (Spike comes back acts really cool, him and Faye make sweet love down by the fire, and make the big bucks? Something like that?) Anyway, all will be explained by the next chapter, I should point out that In truth I have no idea how obvious or hidden the main thrust of my story is, or when and where it becomes apparent, but for now we'll just pretend it's hidden, though it probably won't be. That being said, try not to be too judgmental of what I do with the characters, it'll make a much more valid point in the coming chapters I think, and basically I would like some more reviews, the ones I've gotten have been positive but make me worry, but nonetheless there what got me to keep writing so I could really go for some more.

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Now Chapter 2 of Young Man Blues….

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Too Many Coincidences 

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Jet was surprised really at how much had transpired in the last two hours. He had just intended to pay the kid, wave politely and have this guy scamper the hell of his ship, and then he'd sit back with an extra 100,000 woolongs, maybe take a few days off, and then get his ass back to work. However, since he was serving them some crappy noodlish dish and pouring out the booze half an hour after the bounty had been divided, he had to say that things hadn't exactly gone with the plan, but hey neither did the bounty.

The first thing had been the barber shop, he had told Jet that he didn't really know the neiberhood well and had asked which was the nearest, and to be honest Jet wasn't too sure either, as that he didn't need his hair cut to often. When they finally got to one they found it completely empty. Seemingly relived that it was vacant of any patronage, he dropped in to the barber's chair and casually swung his hand around his head in some motion implying to just clean the damn thing up. Half an hour later it was still rather thick and messy, but it was shorter and out of his way. Next they had stopped at the tailors, Jet had simply handed him a hunk of cash and waited outside, but when he finally came out Jet thought his middle age approaching heart was gonna puke. This kid, despite all the shit he could have walked out with, managed to find himself a nice blue double-breasted suit, and yes, a beige-yellow shirt to go with it. He really wanted to ask the prick if this was his idea of a joke, but he thought better of it and thanked god he hadn't rolled up his cuffs yet. 

They had come back to the ship, Jet led him into the living room, and before Jet could even mention anything about dividing the bounty, the kid had walked by him, hoped over the railing and sunk into the god awful yellow couch like it was his old friend. Jet really wasn't the type to get all upighty over manners, but seeing the blue suit on the awful upholstered yellow couch again was too much. He had grumbled to himself wishing that Spike's suit had been more one-of-a-kind. After they divided the reward money, Jet though feeling a little bored was ready to see the kid off and never here from him again, when out of nowhere the kid offered him up a partnership. He said that this old boat looked like it was boring him, and that "maybe they could split a few" and "you know, see how it goes". Though every bone in Jet's body had told not to,

"Sounds like a plan," he had replied.

"Well alright then? What's cooking?"

That had been thirty minutes ago, he'd been cooking since then while the chump had sat around on his couch flipping channels on the t.v. aimlessly. It really _did_ remind him of Spike. The boy and him _had_ in fact traded names. Around when he walked out of the tailors in the blue suit; almost as if on cue to elivate Jet's confusion and explain clearly that he indeed was _not_ Spike, he casualy stated: "I'm Dylan, you know, in case your wondering". That was that, "Dylan Waters", he said to which Jet had politly replied "Jet Black", but It didn't seem like Dylan was paying much attention.

So here they were in this damn ship, aimlesly consuming Jet's garbage food, and preparing to dump toxic bevrages down their respective throats. Jet casually reached on to the table picking up a box of ciggrets and jammed one out a little pointing the box at Dylan suggestivly.

"You smoke?" he asked.

"Only because it's so damn cool," he said chuckling and pulling one out of the box and popping it into his mouth, as leaned forward for Jet to light him up, he added in a mumble around the cigarette, "…and cause I'm addicted…"

Jet snapped his thumb down on spoke sparking up the lighter and Dylan's cigarette, 

"Yeah I know that," he said chuckling lightly to himself as he lit his own, "You like the blues?" 

"I was born singing em," he teased grinning stupidly. 

"That's what they all say," Jet grumbled numbly, as he picked up a square remote of the table pointed and clicked, and the radio buzzed on followed by the wail of a blues harp and the slow rustic dirge of a slide guitar. "So," he added taking another sip of his liquor and slapping the glass on the table, "Where'd you come from?"

"Well," Dylan mused, taking a long drag from his cigarette and spewing out smoke upwards dramatically, "I don't know if you're prepared to deal the consequences of my past."

Jet knew in part that this was just being silly, mocking the flare of the dramatic self-absorbed film noire hero, he also knew in part that the liquor was talking a bit too, but he also knew full damn well that it sounded like something Spike would say. Something dramatic, and filled with melancholy and implications, and he would have meant it too.

"Uh huh," Jet said sounding a mix between confused and annoyed, "Secrets between partners _are _dangerous you know," he added chuckling a little.

Dylan cut him off with a blow of sobriety, "Dangerous? Secrets aren't what ruin partnerships, it's got to be the impetus to destroy one's self," he said swishing the booze in his mouth and dumping the rest of the glass down his throat, "He went out like a ball of fire, cause he lit the damn match, so don't blame this on secrecy."

Jet just starred at him in sorta an annoyed way, when it came to him again, _when who went out like a ball of fire? What is this kid going on about? _

"What?" Jet asked snapping a bit.

The kid went more than a little white, realizing that he had slipped, or maybe the liquor was talking now, but choose to take another hearty swig, instead of acknowledging Jet's comment.

"Huh?" he asked, swirling around the liquid in his glass and looking down, "Nothing really, just proselytizing again, don't worry about it, I'm just enjoying the drink," he added smiling. 

"Oh really," said Jet in a deep moan, sighing a little, relived but still worried. 

"So Jet," he asked, "Why don't you tell me something about your past?"

"Hey c'mon now, I asked first," Jet moaned a little in annoyance. 

"Whad'ja you do before all this," Dylan continued ignoring his comment, "You look like you used to be a cop, where'd you get that shinny souvenir?" he said nodding towards Jet's metal arm, "Fuck it up in a chase?"

Jet really resented the sound of that, he did look like the law, but the arm was different, a while back with Spike, he mighta snapped and lost it, but times had changed, and he learned his lesson. So this time he just chose to ignore his second half of the comment and address the first with a grumble,

"It's that obvious huh…" Jet said slumping his shoulders and leaning back into his chair, "I used to work for ISSP, but that _really_ was another lifetime."

"What was that like?" Dylan responded flatly, with more of a statement than a question, Jet couldn't tell if he was eager or disinterested. He was playing the flat emotions, just like Spike would have, well _he did_ ask, Jet snapped in his head. It didn't matter though he didn't have a decent answer.

"It's not so easy to explain you know, it was like," Jet paused, "Well a different _world _really, everything was different, not just me, different rules, different ideals, hell almost a different reality, I just let a bit of it sink into this new world."

"Yeah," Dylan replied perking up with more emphasis and pointing with his cigarette burning out in front of him, "I know _exactly_ how that is."

Jet was surprised and pleased, he was afraid he hit him with too much drama or sincerity, and not to mention since this kid had seemed to put on a Spike mask, he was going to be very difficult to talk to. 

"Really?" Jet asked inflection rising a little, "How's that?"

Dylan slumped all the way back into the couch, swinging his feet over he tossed his hands behind his head and propped his legs up against the arm rest. _Damn,_ Jet mentally said to himself noting the sleeves of Dylan's coat had mysteriously cuffed up a bit. 

"To be honest," said Dylan, waving his hand with the cigarette around in the air, making eye contact with the smoke instead of Jet, "I feel like I'm a different world everyday."

"Huh," Jet said glumly, accepting the fact that this kid was intentionally being childishly vague, and he had no idea what Dylan was rambling about, "Well what exactly did you used to do?"

"Like I said," Dylan mumbled, and paused to pretend to clear his throat as he stubbed out his cigarette on the ash tray, "…I'm not sure of much of anything, I've got some sorta long term hangover-amnesia, and I'm not really sure about much of my past or even my present, so right now I'm just wandering around hoping for the best."

"Right," Jet snorted in disbelief, "So you just wander around with no memory hoping for luck to work out for you?" he asked mockingly.

"If you like," replied Dylan titling his head down and closing his eyes.

"Amnesiac-gypsy-praying for luck?" Jet chuckled deeply, he really had to laugh at that one, he took it all back this guy wasn't a cheap Spike knock-off after all, "Man," Jet laughed some more, " you sound like Faye."

"Well I'm not." He snapped quietly, Jet laughed again, _now_ he sounded like Spike.

"Hey man come on now," Jet chided, "You don't know the woman do you?"

Dylan paused for a while, opened one eye and glared at Jet, "No, I don't," he stated flatly, then closed his eye again.

"So you can't be saying you aren't just like her can you?" Jet asked.

No response, but the kid did look a little red, Jet thought to himself.

"Ha ha, you two would make a cute couple, I bet you're about her age." Jet said laughing, but now he could help but to notice Dylan blushing severely. _So maybe he was a bit uncomfortable with my matchmaking? _Jet humorously thought to himself, but come to think of it, he could recall the kids face first start turning red when his eyes were still closed, when he first mentioned Faye's name, and nothing else. 

"Your blushing," Jet teased in a deep tone, he felt a little guilty, and kind of out of character, but maybe this was his ace up the sleeve to make Dylan spill his guts for real, "C'mon man, no hard feelings, do you know her or something? Cause if you want to see her again or something, I'm pretty sure I can reach her." 

"No!" Dylan snapped his head popping up, face getting redder, he sunk back down trying to conceal how nervous he was, "Just… Just leave it man, I don't know the girl." 

_Don't know her? My ass you don't._ Jet thought to himself, he was as red as a damn tomato now, and clearly very uncomfortable, if not excited by his mention of the girl who used to waste everything on the ship and annoy the hell out of him. What was this guy, maybe an old friend of Faye's; did he have a thing for her? Maybe they used to go out? She probably dumped the poor bastard, the _damn shrew._ Jet had no idea, but he was gonna find out.

"I'm gonna call her okay?" Jet said, more than he asked, "Maybe she'll come over," he added, he knew damn well she wasn't going back on the Bebop under any circumstances, but the prospect seemed to scare Dylan shitless. 

"Don't do that man," he said sighing, face burning red now, "Your just gonna start some unnecessary chaos."

_Chaos? _ _Oh he certainly knows Faye then_, Jet thought to himself. 

"Well it's my ship," Jet said, "I'm gonna go see if I can contact her." 

"Well then I'm going to sleep," Dylan announced rolling away from Jet and covering his head in his hands. 

_Man_, thought jet to himself, _that guy turned into a child in like no time flat._ He walked down a corridor of his ship and grabbed the nearest communications device possible, he tapped a few keys; trying to remember all of the number Faye had left him. He heard it ring and waited for the other end to pick up. It was around half a dozen rings when he heard a click followed by a very groggy feminine voice. 

"Hello?"

"Why hello Faye," Jet said in the sweetest baritone he could muster. 

"Jet?" she asked still sounding dazed, "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Oh sorry about that Faye," he said a bit quieter, he hadn't noticed but it was damn near three now, and well, still he would have figured _Poker Alice_ at least to be a bit of a night owl, "I didn't mean to call you so late but I wanted to tell you about something."

"Really?" she asked giving in a little, "What's so important?"

Jet didn't know really how to start, so he figured he'd just launch into it, "Well there's this guy I met today, I mean, he won't admit to it, but he defiantly knows you, I can't really tell how, maybe you guys used to date, maybe an old friend?"

"Jet…" she groaned, she didn't know why on earth he was going into this.

"He said his name was Dylan Waters," Jet said.

"What?" Faye asked a little ticked, "I have no idea who that is."

"Really?" asked Jet shocked and disappointed, "Never heard the name before?"

"It sounds like some sorta butchering of names of musicians from my childhood if you want the honest truth."

"Oh," said Jet a little confused, "Damn it, he must have made his name up, here let me describe him to you." Jet continued leaning over his shoulders, he could here Faye let out an exasperated groan on the other end, "He's a tall guy, kinda young I'd say, somewhere round your age, He's got this sorta scraggly matted hair, kinda scruffy looking…actually he's got some pretty sweet moves, like martial arts and shit I guess…"

"What?" Faye snapped on the other end, _shit_ Jet knew what she was thinking, or at least what she though he was thinking, "I don't know anybody like that, _I never_ knew anyone like that," she added with more ferocity, "…Well I knew one person like that, and clearly you did too, and that's why this guys on your ship huh? He reminds you of him, well Jet, if you thinking I'm coming back to that travesty of a junk ship to go reminisce with you over some guy who reminds you of Spike, well you've got another thing coming," she paused, Jet could here her start to cry a little, but before Jet could apologize she jumped back into it, "He's dead Jet—he's not coming back, just cause you've got some cheap knock off on the ship doesn't mean anything, let go of the past for once, didn't Spike teach you that by dieing? Get over it, and quit trying to compensate. You're a man Jet, so act like one!" she ended on that harsh note slamming the phone down with such force that Jet had to turn his head to once side. 

Jet sighed to himself lightly returning the phone to its cradle; he walked back to the living room where Dylan had been trying to sleep.

"So how'd it go?" Dylan asked in a half dazed sleep state.

"I guess she doesn't know you after all buddy," Jet said sighing, "You were right, she really blew up at me though," he added chuckling in a way you could tell he didn't think it was funny, "Tells me to toughen' up, act like a man." 

"Mhmmm," Dylan said tossing in his half sleeping state, "Don't listen to her, she's probably crying right now, just like she did when Spike took off, she's the one that's hung up over his death, not you, so don't feel so bad." 

Jet would have thanked him for the empathy, if it hadn't taken him half a second to consider the magnitude of what this practical stranger sleeping on the couch had just said to him.

"What!" Jet exploded. He wasn't asking this time, he was demanding. 

Jet's boom seemed to shake Dylan out of his half sleep state, and into full consciousness of what he had just said. His face quickly shifted from its happy embarrassed dreamy red, to a pale white. 

"There's nothing to say is there?" Dylan softly whispered looking down.

"There damn well better be!" Jet boomed stomping his foot, "I want answers!" 

"Answers for what?" Dylan said shaking his head in frustration, voice rising a little to be heard along side Jet's,

"Answers for what?" Jet said so softly, his voice shaking, and then growing in intensity, "Answers for the fact that you've been imitating and referencing my dead partner all day, answers for the fact that you've had me numbered and know my background, answers for your constant uncomfortable behavior when I talk about a women who turns out, has no idea who you are, and defiantly answers for you inside scoop to the drama of my old crews' lives!"

"Well there is no answer," Dylan said glumly, "Not one that'll you'll understand anyway."

"Well there damn well better be," Jet snapped, "Because I'm not gonna let this slip up go by."

"Well let me ask you Jet," Dylan said looking down at the floor again, "What would you believe?" 

Jet's head snapped, but he kept on staring, _damn there is no decent answer,_ but this kid sure had some hell of a nerve, "I don't have a damn clue," Jet replied angrily, "Are you stalking us, tracking us, got an old score to settle with us, do you secretly know an old buddy of mine? I'm asking you!"

"What answer do you want?" Dylan asked, "You know none of those answers would be enough."

Jet didn't say anything he just kept glaring, and thinking. 

"You want more proof?" asked Dylan, "Well fine, I'll tell you how you lost that arm of yours," he began watching Jet's eyebrow twitch in frustration, "You were going after a member of the European syndicate, major player, notorious assassin, Udi Taxin? Was that his name?" Jet's face went a little whiter as Dylan continued, "Yeah I think so, you chased down the alley coming after him, but it was an ambush and they took your arm."

Jet breathed a sigh of relief, he could have likely went into old ISSP encrypted data to find this shit out, he was just some strange stalker he thought to himself, until Dylan cut of his thought and it became clear he wasn't done with the story.

"You thought that's who took your arm anyway, until Udi along with some other prisoners hijacked the ship they were on, You and your old partner came back for one more go, you took him out finally, but you took a heavy moral toll. You found out who really took your arm: your old partner, you were backstabbed. Then in act of self defense you shot your partner, and per his request gave him a cigarette just before he died, and then placed his old gun back in his hands."

Jet went completely white. He bent over dropping his hands into his head, Dylan now stood in front of him looking down sympathetically. There was absolutely no way to feel. No expiation, No reason, Jet was ready to keel over and just break down. 

"And I can't explain how I know any of this to you, Jet" he said calmly with a voice that no longer recalled images of Spike to his mind, but instead just plain confusion and fear, "I can't tell you my past or how I know what I know, because as strange as it seems for you now, and as strange as this all is for me, I can only imagine what would happen to you if I told you."

Yeah, Jet was ready to keel over and just break down, _but instead he just lost it_ He moved forward grabbing Dylan by the collar with both arms smashing him against the wall.

"Don't think I can handle it?" Jet barked, eyes burning with a crazed rage, "I don't really give a damn what you think, cause you can't blow my whole universe to shit without explanation!" 

"Believe me," Dylan began, "It's just a nice coincidence compared to…" He was cut off by a fist to the gut as Jet glared at him and he began to cough, trying to regain some level of composure 

"I don't give a damn!" Jet roared, "I want answers!"

"There is no answer, damn it!" Dylan shouted back, "It's just like I told you I'm in a different world now, nothing's the same nothing makes sense."

"Bullshit!" Jet snapped, "I don't want a philosophical posturing! I want truth! Because were not going anywhere till I get it."

Dylan paused for a moment and looked down, "Fine."

"Well?" Jet demanded, a little quieter now, "How? How do you know this…this…how do you know the smallest details…how do you know about my arm?"

Dylan let out a long loud airy sigh, and then paused again and looked right at Jet burrowing his eyes into his like daggers, "Well," he said pausing once more and taking a deep breath, "Because it was all part of Episode 16, Black Dog Serenade." 

Jet let him drop to the floor suddenly, Dylan regained his balance standing up straight, Jet had sunken back and didn't feel so tall anymore.

"Confused Jet?" Dylan asked, "Didn't get my different worlds metaphor? Let me explain," looking down his voice hissing dryly with a piercing tone, "In my world Jet…" he said once pausing and began again, "In my world Jet, you're a damn animated character on a television show." 


	3. What You Want

Okay, well here it is the third update. I did it. I think this is the longest one I've written yet, should be at least one maybe two more coming – though I wouldn't throw a lot of chips in the fifth chapter. Also I'd like to thank everyone one (three of you now) for your positive reviews of the last chapter, I'm glad the idea was well received, I was pretty worried about how it would go. I would like to ask if you could tell anyone you know who might be interested to read this, let it get around a little, and hopefully they'll review it too so I know they read it. Anyway I'm glad to see that people have enjoyed it so far – I enjoy the reviews keep with them -- and I'll keep going with this. 

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I made some minor edits to this chapter, probably not noticeable but it's a bit smoother now. Anyway, I _am_ working on a 4th chapter (mostly in my head right now) -- and there will probably be a very short 5th one to go along, but I _need_ reviews, It's the only way I'll know if anyone – besides the 3 different people who have reviewed this have read it, not to mention, even getting consistent reviews from just a couple of people is basically what motivates me to keep writing, I don't want to be an ass about this, but I really can't tell if it just sits there and looks pretty (or boring perhaps?) or if anyone reads it. The 4th chapter will be up soon though… I hope.

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What You Want

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Jet didn't know what to think, or really how to feel, coughing up his lungs seemed to be the reasonable reaction, but he was a man of relative control so he opted just to sit his ass down instead. Sitting across from each other again, with the kid back on the yellow couch, _had nothing happened_? He couldn't really decide how to react, how was he supposed to react? First and foremost, he had to clarify two things in his head; firstly he didn't believe a damn word this kid was saying, secondly he wasn't entirely sure of what this kid was saying. Dylan could most defiantly be delusional, it would explain his whole drunken-sleepy-amnesia thing, but on the other hand it most certainly did not clarify how this kid knew detailed facets of his life. The real problem, or what upset him was a bit more difficult to put his finger on, it wasn't so much what Dylan had said, but rather the way he said it. There was something about how he described his loss of an arm, looked down at him, told him the "truth", he did it with an artistic precession that was quite frankly -- _unsettling_. 

"Firstly," began Jet interrupting the long silence, "I just want to say that I don't know what the hell your talking about, and I don't give a damn."

"Right," replied Dylan patronizingly, staring back at him glumly, "Won't this be fun?" he added with a blast of sarcasm.

"God damn it!" Jet said smashing his hand against the table, "I'm not sure if I understand what you're saying, and even if I do, I mean, how the hell am I supposed to take it?"

"With this," said Dylan bluntly tossing him the half empty bottle of booze, "and a _very_ open mind."

Jet let out one grand, intensive, cathartic, sigh, bleeding out all his frustrations for the moment and looked harshly across the table at Dylan. 

"I don't entertain delusional fantasies." Jet said sternly glaring down as a challenge to Dylan. Dylan just stared back blankly, tired and worn, a face that showed, good god _empathy? _Jet couldn't help but notice that after he had crucified him with his glares, and ripped his world to shreds, the man was sad tired and confused too, and well just disappointed. 

"Spike's dead Jet," Dylan said, _damn it that was the second time today someone felt the need to remind him of the obvious like he was a little child,_ "I can't imagine you entertain much of anything these days."

The point hit Jet in the gut again taking the wind out of him, it was there again, that artistic precision, but the kid was right, and he knew too much, _good god he knew too much,_ and all in all he couldn't help but imagine the kid was a little confused and frightened too. He did say it was weird for him too, and besides who was Jet kidding? He didn't have anything else to entertain.

"So," he began but not continuing till he took a large swig of the alcohol straight from the bottle, and finally set it down gently, "I'm a animated character?"

"Yup," he replied snatching the bottle back from him and taking a hearty swig as well, "Basically."

"…And I don't suppose you have any sorta hard evidence to prove this?" asked Jet.

"Like what, a few of the episodes to show you?" Dylan replied flatly, "No, not really."

Jet sighed in frustration, dismissing the validity of trying to argue with him, "But there are episodes of my life… available to the public, somewhere in existence?"

"Yes," Dylan began, "Er, well no, I mean not that' you'll ever see."

"What?" Jet snapped sounding a little bit angry.

"No, don't misunderstand, I mean they exist but you can't get them _here_…" Dylan tried to explain. 

"Ok, then where do we go to get them?" Jet asked almost in cynical mockery.

Dylan let out an exasperated sigh, "It doesn't work that way," he said noticing Jet's eyebrow twitch in irritation, "Look If your gonna have any hope of understanding this the first thing your gonna have to follow is that in my _world_ per say, you don't exist, you're a fictional character."

"Your _world?_" Jet asked.

"Yes, I mean you could call it a different universe, an ulterior plane of existence, but the point is, in the universe I was in and I understood, you, Spike, Bebop, didn't exist, it was all part of a fictional television show."

Jet sighed again in disbelief, but now with a hint of understanding, "Well, what's your _'world'_ like?"

"Basically the same, really, I mean the show was basically modeled off our own existence, they just made up some characters set it about 70 plus years in the future, and took a half assed sci-fi approach to what could happen."

"So your '_world' _is just really what happened before _'mine'_?" Jet asked slowly.

"Not really, in fact I'd say what goes on here, is pretty far off guess at what might happen in 70 years, by my world's standards anyway," Dylan replied equally slowly trying to think of the most rational and logical way to explain what was both completely irrational and illogical. 

"So exactly what is it to your 'world' then?" said Jet still trying to get his head around the idea. 

"_Fiction_, pure and simple, it's completely fictitious entertainment, an animated fictional television show, if you can understand that_, _then the rest is easy shit." 

Jet slumped his head back into his hand, "Understanding was never the hard part, it's the whole believing and accepting thing that got me in this state," he grumbled, "So maybe I get your theory, but it's kinda creepy to imagine, you know everyone watching me all the time." 

"Well first of all, it's not like you exist, or anyone is even lead to believe you exist, your purely fictional, so nobody's _watching you_, and to be honest, the show is just a bunch of relevant fragments of your life."

"…And I'm _animated_…" Jet added again with more emphasis, "Like a damn Cartoon?" 

"Well, cartoon is kinda a demeaning word, it's pretty life like you know? Basically how you are right now, just you know, _animated._"

Jet was tempted to ask when exactly, they were watching him, like in the shower maybe? He thought better of it, already getting a drift of what the show was about. _"They"_ weren't watching him anyway, cause _he _didn't exist to them. Yeah he understood, _as if._ The whole thing was ridiculous to try to comprehend, but he could finally tell now why Dylan was so stressed out too. There was no reason why this should be logical – much less _possible_ to him either. 

"So," Jet had to ask, though he felt kind of stupid, "So everyone, back in your _world," _he said, having a little less trouble using the word, "they just sit around and watch – er watch episodes of television about us – er me?"

"Well Jet," Dylan began, "Not to kick you off any high horse, but we, like yourself, have plenty – if not to many television shows, and this one is by no means the most popular, the series started and ended buddy, I just happen to be a fan." He said, noticing Jet for the first time nod, and almost chuckle at the idea of having specific admirers, Dylan however wasn't to comfortable with this, "and while were in the process of kicking you off any plausible ego trip you might have gotten out of this experience," he continued, "I should mention that that it's not about you per-say, your more of a supporting character." 

Now Jet chuckled a little, naturally everyone would think in terms of themselves, even though Jet was by no ones standards self-centered. It made sense though, well if you accepted the premise _at all_ anyway.

"So," Jet asked, "When did it end? -- I mean in you know like…"

"Yeah I gotcha," Dylan explained, it was getting easier, just one thing left to over come, "Well reading your papers, specifically bout the Red-Dragon building, I'd say – oh bout six months ago…"

Jet paused for a bit, and nodded solemnly as the severe reference kicked in, but he could really only stay down for so long till it hit him:

"Wait a minute!" Jet demanded, "The shows about Spike?"

"Yeah." Dylan replied flatly until he noticed the expression on Jet's face, Dylan couldn't help to chuckle, or really along side Jet burst out laughing, he fell over on the couch eyes watering a little, and after some more side killing laughter with Jet booming along in unison, he wiped his eyes and sat up straight. As the wave of laughter from Mr. Black also subdued, Dylan noticed Jet looking a little puzzled.

"Ok, now I thought I got this whole mind trip of yours figured out," Jet began, "but I mean, yeah that was funny, but If I'm thinking about this properly, I fail to see why it would be funny to _you_."

Dylan smiled a little, and resisted the urge to laugh some more, he was catching on fast, he was right it wasn't really funny to him, at least not for those reasons. "Well, yeah that part isn't funny to me at all, what's funny is your reaction, this whole – barrel of nonsense really, I mean, your completely… in-character – that's what's so funny to me I guess."

"Hrmph," Jet grunted smacking the sofa with his fist. "So, it's all about Spike, and basically I make the appropriate appearances?" 

"Well now," Dylan said thoughtfully, "Don't belittle yourself, your pretty damn important, practically as important as Spike, -- but officially he's the main character." 

"…Right…" Jet said slowly, falling back into the realization of how deep he was getting into shit that went way beyond surreal, "I'm sorry, but I don't totally get it, what exactly happens in this show?"

"Huh?" Dylan, half asked, and half stated, "What do you want me to do explain it episode by episode?"

"Yeah, I don't see why not, something like that would do, cause I'm not going anywhere, and as I made it quite clear to you – your not either."

"Huh," he grunted this time, without question, "Um… well I guess it you know, opening music then introduction then title, and then there's the episode…"

"Woah woah woah," Jet cut him off, "Opening music?"

"Yeah," said Dylan casually rushing through the explanation, " it's this big band Jazzy number, and it's all exciting and there's this off color presentation, and then the title, and then they show you some opening scene and then the title of the specific episode or whatever…" 

_Damn._ This idea had totally escaped Jet, though he had accepted that it was a television show, well on some level, like – he still hadn't actually _thought_ of it that way—as a show, with a theme song and a title and all that nonsense.

"Wait…" Jet said, "What's this all called?"

Dylan paused for a while, he didn't look thrilled about answering these kinda questions, "Cowboy Bebop," he replied as smooth as he could.

"Cowboy Bebop?" Jet asked a little surprised, "um, well I guess…" 

"Yeah, why not right?" Dylan said reassuringly, though Jet couldn't tell which one of them he was trying to reassure.

"So…" Jet pressed on conceding that the iconography of this kids surreal fictitious television show was somewhat less important than the plot line, and he didn't want to loose track, "Continue – the first episode."

Dylan let out a sigh and lit up another cigarette, "Well it's basically you guys going after that Asimov character, it starts out with the Ship cruising through space, you tell Spike to eat, and the running joke with bell peppers and…" Dylan cut himself off, "…well technically I suppose that's not how the episode starts…"

Jet raised a questioning eyebrow, "Ok, _exactly _how does it start." 

"Well it's this little artistic scene with Spike and his cigarette and flowers, and then he's shooting some people through the flowers and blah blah blah…"

"No, not, _blah blah blah_," Jet stated in frustration, "It's relevant, cause I don't remember any of this part," 

"Well it _is_ Spike'spast, so you really wouldn't know I guess, except the audience can't make any sense of it either, well at this point anyway, but at the beginning of the series the viewer isn't supposed to know, it's just supposed to look all dramatic, melancholy and spooky, and make you think there's a lot more to the show than meets the eye I guess…"

"…Right," said Jet, clearly not feeling as comfortable as he had felt. 

"So look, let me save you the trouble of a detailed– step-by -step analysis of 26 episodes, and let me sum it up," Dylan said flatly, "An episode where you find, Ein, an episode where you meet Faye, episode where you meet Ed, quite a few delving into the dark past of Spike, Julia, and Vicious, a few about your past, a few about Faye's and a whole shit load of stuff in between," Dylan finished sheepishly, "I really feel like such a goon…"

"So, basically from Asimov – till…" Jet said struggling a little.

"…Till Spike dies…yeah…" Dylan finished for Jet, and for some reason adding a strange new level of reality to the fact that Spike really _was dead,_ which was funny when you thought about the fact that the 'reality' had come out of total fiction.

"…Right…" said Jet Slowly nodding.

Dylan sunk his head down again and leaned more into the couch, he seemed a little dismantled over the way things were going, and maybe a level of his artistic precision was gone. 

"I mean, it covers the high points at least, I've really got no evidence to say, you know, anything else _didn't happen _between the episodes…but that's all I know…"

Jet let out a long weak sigh again, he was already getting much too accepting of this, sure he understood what the kid was proposing now, but that didn't make his theory logical -- or possible. There of course there was the big question:

"Now I suppose it would be entirely fruitless me to ask you – you know – exactly how the hell you got _'here'_…right?" Jet said glumly.

"Yeah basically," he replied blowing smoke out of his mouth in the classic dramatically -casual manner.

"So you just woke up here one day? Is that it? No idea how?" Jet grumbled.

"_Well_, Jet," Dylan began confidently, "It's not exactly as if I've been spinning you nothing but lies since we first met."

"Oh?" asked Jet sarcastically.

"No, not exactly anyway, see I do have some form of amnesia I guess," Dylan explained, "You know, like I don't really remember getting here, why or how, it's kinda like a dream, the whole thing just slowly focuses until I have a clear memory. I have some very vague memories of heavy fog early on, but I can't say how or when it started. I do know I was around those docks in bum clothing, I know I was there for a week, hell maybe even two."

"So it's all just been strange hints to the truth huh? A different world, partial amnesia, is that it?" Jet asked in frustration.

"Not really," Dylan conceded, "I'd have to admit that this has mostly been calculated moves, minus my catastrophic slipups."

"Yeah I'll say," grumbled Jet, "Exactly what have you been calculating?"

"Well," Dylan admitted, "When I came to my senses and figured out '_where_' I was -- so to speak anyway – I realized that I was gonna have to run into one of you – it was the only way me being here even made sense, and that the only sort resolve was gonna come from getting on your ship, well…I made some calculations…"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jet said sharply, "Like what?"

"_Like what?_" Dylan snorted back, and then grinned yanking his suit forward a little with a spot of pride, "You think this was an accident? Sure you can call it hero worship if you want," he chuckled cockily, "But I knew you'd have a soft spot for seeing this suit -- on this couch again."

The cigarette fell out of Jet's mouth and ashed itself on the cold metal floor, he stood up in an instant, eyes blazing, and reached across the table, yanking Dylan up by the suit he had just spoken so proudly of, in what was now an all too familiar situation.

"This is just a fucking joke to you isn't it?" Jet snapped shaking Dylan a little, "Our lives are just cinematic dribble for you to critique and analyze? None of this matters to you, does it? Our history, our pain, Spike's death, it's all-just melodrama right? Well I'm real, damn it! You've got no business crashing into my world like this!"

Now it was Dylan's turn to snap, he stared back at him harshly and smacked his arms off his coat and fell onto his feet neatly, giving Jet a harsh shove backwards away from him.

"What the hell did you expect!" Dylan demanded, "You think this was my idea? You think I did this? Spike's death did mean something to me; a hell of a lot more than it should considering he _wasn't real_! I escaped far too much into that damn show, but don't think for a second that this is my twisted little game!"

Jet conceded a little, it was a scary place for Dylan too, not just him, hell at least _he _was still at home, so to speak anyway. Jet sat down apologetically and yanked out his cigarettes with his head down as an offering of regret to Dylan. Dylan snatched one out of the box, crammed it into his mouth and paced around in place furiously for a few seconds and then snapped his hand back at Jet who was ready to light it. 

"This wasn't my damn idea!" he said flopping down on the couch letting out all his frustration as he blew smoke from the side of his mouth, "You think I would have left myself in rags smelling like fish for more than a week?" he said blowing more smoke from his mouth, "Listen, If I was gonna mix universes, I wouldn't have thrown myself into _your world_ on to some boring dock with some bum's clothes smelling like rotten seafood," he said then grumbling some to himself, "I would have brought _Faye_ back home to _my _bedroom okay?"

Jet had to chuckle at that, and thankfully Dylan did too, but there it was again, blushing over Faye. Jet did admit that she _was damn good looking_, but seriously? Then it hit him, one more puzzle piece fell into place. 

"Wait a minute," Jet asked, "So Faye's a…" he couldn't even get the words out.

"…Hung up on walls and lockers of geeky boys everywhere…" Dylan said chuckling, leaning as far back into the couch as he could with his head hanging over and looking up, trying to hide his redness.

"She's a sex symbol?" Jet gawked.

"Not in so many words," Dylan laughed uncomfortably.

"What words would you take out?" Jet snorted humorously.

"…Symbol…" said Dylan stretching his arms, yawing, laughing, blushing, and grinning all at once.

Jet burst into a fit of short laughs, that reeked of a school girl with a rich baritone who had a bit too much to drink, "Man, that's a riot," he said through laughter, panting for air.

"Yeah, I guess so," said Dylan grinning a little now.

"Well I can see why you were a bit worried bout meeting her now," Jet said smiling, "Though really, this is a once and a lifetime opportunity…" 

Dylan's eyes rolled upwards as he closed them, smiling, perhaps dreaming of what the encounter would be like, meeting the legendary pin up girl herself, but his smile turned to a embarrassed frown. 

"Yeah, but awkward as hell," he said suddenly, "and besides I'm not really up for having _this _conversation again."

"I dunno man," Jet said, "Those are some powerful words you have, might be your ticket…" 

"No, I don't think the – 'Hey sweet thing, did I mention that you're a fictional character on an animated TV show…' line is gonna get me much action," he said chuckling and blushing, "But then again Jet, with all you've been drinking to cope, I suspect she wouldn't object too much to anything," he said laughing even more.

It was a little in bad taste, but Jet could tell by his reassuring smile he was hardly serious, and he was right, the booze really had loosened him up, "Is that so?" he asked chuckling along.

"Well," said Dylan before he paused, and the laughter stopped, "Nah, not really, I couldn't – she's _in love_ with _the_ dead man Jet."

"You think?" asked Jet intrigued at what the keen artistic observer might have figured out about their emotions, since he had basically decided hence forth, real or not, this was a learning experience.

"C'mon on man," Dylan put on in his best comforting confident voice, "You _know it_, you don't need me to tell you, I saw the end man, but you – _you were there_, she may have wanted a home, but buddy – you know Spike was icing on the cake, and I just can't imagine how much it messed her up, I mean that's why she's not here right?"

"Yeah I guess that's right," Jet admitted sadly, the poor shrew loved the stupid lunkhead, and it was truly classically depressing. It was a shit cycle really, Julia-Spike-Faye, except Faye was still here to deal with it.

"…Besides…" continued Dylan, not hearing Jet's thoughts for once, "I can't imagine what happened to her when you found his body on those stairs, it damn near killed _me_ for Christ's sake."

"Found him on the stairs?" Jet asked a little of set and surprised, "What?"

"That's where he died man!" Dylan said annoyed, "He collapsed on to the stairs in dramatic brilliance! That was the end man!" 

Jet rubbed his head in awe, man this was too much, "Well maybe that's how _you_ saw it," said Jet a little interested and annoyed, "But I wasn't watching, remember, that's not how it goes, _I wasn't there_, you were, we never found his body."

"What?" Dylan asked, shaking his head in disbelief, "What do you mean: _You never found his body_?" 

"That's how it was, man" Jet grumbled, "ISSP reports said that there were basically no survivors, and most of the place was in shards really, I had inside info, and the reality was there was no way he could have made it, I knew that, and clearly you did too."

Dylan popped up to his feet waving his hands and cigarette in frustration and irritation, "_You didn't find his body?_" Dylan snapped once more rhetorically, and irritated, "That's ridiculous!" Jet could tell he was talking in terms of his own world now, "_They didn't find his body…_" he said mockingly in some childish voice, "That's garbage, that's the kind of absurd explanation that some tragically obsessed fan would offer up when they just couldn't take the fact that Spike had d…" he cut himself off at the first sound of the last word, his cigarette fell out of his hands and dropped lightly and slowly to the floor, he had gone white, whiter then Jet had seen him yet. He was scared, his eyes wide like all those cartoons he had watched, but real, true fear, a sudden understanding he just couldn't bare. Like the clarity in the midst of chaos he had hoped for had not lead him to a happier soothing truth, it had lead him to a truth which had opened up a whole new world of little terrifying questions that stabbed away, shattering what little chance at comfort he had had. He let out a small breath, breathing out one cold icy piercing utterance, barely audible, but growing in intensity with the wind of his breath, "…_fuck_…" he fell on to his knees dropping his hands into his head.

"Good god," Jet asked, "What is it?"

"Shit," he said in watery choked voice almost at tears, "It all makes sense now…"

"Really?" Jet exclaimed in excitement, but caught himself, and became worried, "What is it?" 

There was a new determined look on his face, any signs of tears were gone as he looked up at Jet straight in the eye, "I'm going, now." 

"Wha…" Jet started in a panic, this was too much like Spike for him.

"The Swordfish – it's here isn't it." It wasn't so much a question as it was a statement, he could have very well just asked where it was. 

"I…" Jet started again, yeah they had taken it back when they had finally accepted that Spike was gone, but there was no reason why this kid should know that.

"No, c'mon I need to go, take me too it, now!" Dylan snapped.

"Er—wait no listen," Jet tried almost trembling now, "Tell me what's going on?" he didn't like how familiar this was sounding.

"Walk with me, take me there," Dylan ordered, "I'll tell you if we go, c'mon."

Without further pause Jet and Dylan bolted forward walking briskly as Jet took him down the path to the hangar. 

"Ok," Jet said harshly walking rapidly to stay ahead of Dylan, "Once again, I need answers."

"Look," began Dylan rapidly in a nervous and scared, yet confident excitement, "Since we've meet there have been three things that absolutely under no circumstances could I rationalize in my head – until now, _cause you didn't find his body_." He added the last line with a hint of smugness, implying the absurdity of Jet's explanation.

"Well what -- what things?" Jet said, noting that Dylan had paused to long for his liking and they were getting awfully close to the ships.

Dylan shook his head in frustration, "Three things make no sense," he took a deep breath, "three things; the cigarettes, the booze, and my fighting."

They were now entering the hanger, and once it was in sight Dylan took no time to dash forward leaping up the ladder, and in moments began to open the cockpit. 

"Hey now wait!" Jet demanded, "You didn't tell me anything! Besides think about it, your not Spike, your not even from this '_world'_ you can't fly that thing, can you?"

"Don't you get it?" Dylan asked in a hurried frustration, mixed with a pang of

guilt, "The three things that didn't make sense, the cigarettes, the booze, and now you tell me you never actually found his body? Believe me, I can fly this thing." 

Jet through out his arms in disgust and confusion, "What?" he asked raising an irritated eyebrow.

Dylan sighed once more, "Jet, in my world, you know, the place _I_ know. I've never smoked in my life; it ought to taste terrible to me, shouldn't it? But I went through at least a pack with no trouble. I never drank much either, a glass of wine at most! But I went through the hard stuff like it was nothing! Most of all Jet back home, so to speak, I'm kinda pudgy and out of shape, and I damn well don't know any martial arts! Yet, I mop the floor with that guy like I was, _well like I was Spike_, Jet, that keyed me into something, that there's more at work here, but it didn't make sense until you gave me a lazy-fan excuse of '_We didn't find his body_'. Then it all clicked, and I've got to go now, I need answers to all the new questions."

Jet was flabbergasted, this kid could answer a thousand questions, and provide a thousand more, "You know what now?" he asked demandingly, "What is this all supposed to mean?"

"Don't you get it?" Dylan asked one last time in a whisper of frustration, "He's alive."

"What?" Jet asked in a quiet shock.

"Spike is alive, Jet," he said repeating himself, "He's alive," he repeated again looking cold and hard at Jet one last time, "…and he's alive because _I wanted him to be."_

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	4. Young Man's Blues

Well okay, It's been a long long time since I updated, and I confess the chapter wasn't really as long as I hoped, but it's finished all the same, there should be at one remaining, albeit extremely short, chapter to come which promises to give about as much conclusion as can actually be given to a story as strange as this. I'm thinking afterwards I might take some time to take any questions in case this made no sense for anyone maybe post some answers I don't know. I'm thinking maybe I'll revise this one before I put up a fifth, cause it's not long enough, but I wouldn't count on me actually changing it enough to make a difference usually I settle for a few different word choices. (I already put in a bunch hence a slightly increased length and a slightly later post) Anyway sorry about the really really long non – update. I should also make note that there's a lot of intentional quoting from the series in this chapter so don't like flip out or anything, it's not like I really need to tell anyone that I don't own Bebop, I mean seriously, I just don't have the balls to make a character with thong suspenders. Finally let me point out, people basically put their stuff up here to be reviewed, so please, everyone who's reviewed before, and defiantly some new people, by all means review, pass it on by word of mouth, cause you know I thrive of them. 

That being said…

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Chapter 4: Young Man's Blues

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_Why in Gods name am I still alive? What happened to the dream? It was supposed to end. All things stop and start – don't they? Isn't that just part of being human? I was ready – I was done with it all – the book had been closed. Here I am though, trying to write chapters to a finished book. When you've been dead for so long – it's hard for being alive to mean anything. That's just the problem though isn't it? I'm just watching a dream aren't I? Nothing means anything._

_----------------_

Spike might have had too much to drink, but that was hardly the point, those thoughts had been in his head since he woke up, and he hadn't found any answers. He knew it had all come to end on those stairs, or at least he knew that was how it was _supposed _to end. That was the climax, the final exclamation point to his short and impetuous existence. Death or Glory, nothing else, he was destined from birth to burn out like an over zealous star in the sky. Yet something in this astrological cosmic destiny had gone awry he might even go so far to say seriously wrong, case-in-point -- he was _alive_. That, as far as Spike was concerned was the most absurd and unfair hand the higher powers had ever dealt him. Was he even alive? He was never sure what it was like in the first place, maybe he didn't know now. Yet despite it all, there was something under his skin, something he could just barely feel, that was just – _wrong_. 

Spike pushed open the door of the bar as beams of light trickled into his eyes, the sun had just began to rise, and daylight only seemed to add another level of mockery to his "dream". Though if he thought he could blame this on daylight now he was still deluding himself, no matter how many angles he took, no matter how he tried to look at it, the fundamental problem was still there; _he wasn't supposed to be alive_. Julia and Vicious were dead, and as pathetic as it was, _that_ had been the meat of his existence, everything else had really just been a silly road trip with some occasional stops in moments of seriousness, it was really just a bridge between his two lives. He _hated_ saying that, he really did, cause when it was all said and done, he had respect for Jet, and even respect for the rest of them, they were decent people, and it was only fitting that they should have despised him, but he couldn't think of them as anything more than a windy road in his life. It had finally come to an end and he was done with it all now, but yet for some reason he was still here, and he was being tormented, like he was being told to revaluate his life what mattered, what his time had been. Like somebody was playing with him and wasn't gonna let him go out the way he had planed. No matter how he rationalized it, nothing was more of a mockery then the sheer fact that he was still _here._ Though, as he gazed up into the sky, and saw a familiar flamboyantly red ship, he thought he might have to eat those words.

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Finding the ship had been easy, it had been cruising almost annoyingly slow and judging it's general direction he recognized where it was heading, or luring him, either way it was resolve, and Spike didn't have to think twice about it. Why it was here, or who it was wasn't really relevant, but it was clearly the next step in the direction of is strangely new, and cosmically wrong life. He was walking towards it, heading to the center of the large empty lot when he saw the top hatch open and a tall and well put together, despite his raggedy appearance, young looking man climbed out. He hit the ground with a less than ominous tap, and began to walk towards him. Spike met his pace, following his expressions and his gestures, as they stopped together about ten yards apart. The stood there for a while staring each other down, as if some observer would suddenly shout 'Draw!' and something important would happen. Spike met his eyes evenly, he was searching for resolve too, and end, something more than this nonsense that he too must have had fate throw at him, and Spike couldn't help but grin that for the first time today something might mean something.

"You got something?" Spike asked coyly, his subtle grin showing. 

The other man paused and frowned slightly, and the returned the grin, "Really Spike?" he said stretching the grin, "Is that the best you can come up with? Or is it just a bad translation?"

Spike might have felt the urge to act puzzled, or throw him a sideways glance, had the tension not already been brewing high. So this guy knew his name, he certainly wasn't going to give him upper ground, no point in even reacting. 

"Well if your feeling that way," Spike said pulling out his pistol and adjusting his stance, "I can be more direct," he evened the barrel focusing on the kid, "If you don't have much else to say but corny cinema one liners -- Kid, then let's at least settle this much, you've got my ship."

He returned his glare and stepped forward softly, "Cinema?" he said coughing out a dry laugh, "That's all you got here, Spike," he continued, repeating his name again as a threat, " There's nothing else, except violence, music, and some eye candy." 

"Stop moving." Spike ordered, this was either about to become very trite and boring, or very strange.

The kid ignored his request and continued his rant, "But that's okay though, that's really good enough, hell it was wonderful, I'd die for the chance to live on melodramatic brilliance."

"…Then just keep moving and we'll work something out," Spike replied cockily, tightening his grip on the gun. 

"Strange as this may seem to you," he continued ignoring Spike's witty outburst, "I think there's mutual gain in this situation, after all I'm sure you're as confused as to why you're here, as I am."

With those words, Spike lunged on him, a fast kick to the side follow by a sharp left knee to the gut, sent him sprawling, and like that Spike was on him gun pointing down eyes burning. 

"Why am I here? How am I alive? How did I get here?" he demanded gun rattling in his hand. No reaction. He started back blank, prone, and limp, "Answer me Damn it!" he said crossing his face with the back of his hand as bits of blood trickled out of his mouth, "You gonna talk, kid? Why am I here?" he said very quietly in whispering rage. 

"Because," he muttered back irritably, "Because, it's all just a dream." And with that his left elbow flew up knocking the gun out of his hand, as he rolled back kicking him off and sending him flying to the ground with a scraping thud. He rolled to his feet, standing and looking at Spike who was beginning to push himself up, "The names Dylan by the way," he said punctuating it by spiting blood out of his mouth. 

"Yeah," Spike groaned, "So what,"

"So like you said, 'It's all just a dream right?'"

It was Spike's turn to ignore him, "Why didn't I shoot you?" he grunted.

"Because I can't imagine it happening." Dylan replied flatly. 

"Who the hell are you anyway?" Spike groaned, "and please spare me the cloak and dagger responses."

"I already told you, I'm Dylan," he said with minimal dressings, he said as he caught Spike's raised eyebrow, "But if you're looking for something a bit more useful, well I'm your biggest fan."

Spike stopped and looked straight down his eyes, and then he laughed smugly, and smiled, "Well thanks Kid," he chuckled picking up his gun, "I'm glad to know people _someone_ appreciates me, I'm gonna go take my ship back now, ok?" he said grinning with cynicism but holding the gun on him. Spike began walking back towards his ship in frustration as he re holstered his gun, resolve didn't come so easy after all, and well he found his ship anyway. But then his voice caught him again. 

"When you got here, or remembered waking up…" he began, "Well I bet you don't even remember it, sure you remember the steps the final words the stars and all the brilliance, but waking up, recovery never really happened didn't it? You just sorta faded back in and you don't really know how or why you got here, but it just sorta became clear you were okay, you can't remember how or any sorta beginning, it was just like…"

"…Like a dream…" Spike finished for him turning around and staring back with honest interest.

"Yeah, just like a dream, I can't say a whole lot more than that, except I'm the reason why you're here, I'm responsible for this little dream."

Spike looked up at the sky longingly, it wasn't the clear blue he had seen before, it was dense fog, and it was getting darker.

"So you're the sandman?" he asked.

"No, I'm no mastermind," Dylan replied sadly, "I don't have answers, and despite the fact that this all might be my doing, I'm really just a dreamer." 

"So I'm just part of your dream huh?" Spike replied irritated, and a little put off, now that he was in the pseudo-afterlife and all he hoped he'd be living on his own merit, even if it was only for living a selfishly, short, and impetuous life. 

"Don't take it that way," Dylan replied with little humor, "You might not exist, but maybe I don't either, I'm not really sure who's living in the real world and who's living in the dream world, but I don't think it really matters. The fact is were stuck here Spike, neither of us are supposed to be here – and I don't expect it to make any sense, but I figured out that your alive, and it's my fault." 

"Yeah you're right," said Spike his voice quivering, with something between arrogance and anger, "It doesn't make any sense at all."

"Look you've got to take this in stride here…" Dylan began.

"No, wait, if this is a dream, and you've spawned this all, why am I alive, what purpose could this all serve?" Spike demanded glaring at him.

"That's fucking classic Spike isn't it?" Dylan said chuckling, "It's _so_ unfortunate that I brought you back from the dead."

Spike just kept on glaring.

"Look, just listen," Dylan began, "If you outlived all this dark shit, the gloomy melancholy past, the sins committed in another life, then what? What did you want? Maybe you could find Julia and make it work, you could go off get a home, or at least an apartment somewhere, get kids, a dog or a cat or something, but just _live_ have some peace, die happily ever after."

"So, It didn't happen – it couldn't," Spike replied, who had apparently given up any hope of being confused by the fact that this kid he never met knew his inner desires and past, "What's your point?"

"The point is that's an _end_." Dylan said fast and flatly, "That's what you strived for -- an ending, and when it became clear you couldn't have that one, you opted for the other, you went out in a ball of flame like the burning star you always were."

"So?" Spike asked, "I can recall the past too, you know."

"You don't care very much for it though do you?" asked Dylan, "Because everything you've done up until this point was just trying to follow a road to an end."

Spike sighed and then groaned, this was really not what he envisioned, he didn't want the spiritual, he wanted an explanation, nothing felt real, and he needed something sturdy to stand on but all this kid was doing was trying to throw him off balance. 

"I'm sorry but do you have anything like relevant to say?" Spike asked, "Because as much as I understand the value of this whole I didn't 'cherish the moment' enough analysis, it's really not doing us much good. I get it okay? But I could be doing something far more interesting, like eating or sleeping… or standing in the middle of an empty room."

Dylan glared back at him, with eyes that reminded him of Jet, that fatherly glare, that he had seen so man times, that 'you should really know better' look, but there was something more – sadness? _Christ_, Spike thought to himself, _what was this kid on about?_

Dylan paused once, cleared his throat, and rolled his head around in a full loop before coming back to glare at Spike.

"No," said Dylan, "You don't get it, see to you," Dylan continued, "an end something you desire, something unattainable and joyous. That may be fine for you and all, but where I come from, that's all there is. The ending you desired, that's all and everything that goes, so no one does anything. It's an end there's no need to keep on doing anything, and then everything is static, so there's no real action or means. You see?" Dylan asked.

Spike wasn't sure what to make of this, there wasn't really any proper reaction, to this philosophical tangent, and moreover, there was even less continuity to this allegory when you tried to consider what it had to do with his existence, let alone him being alive unharmed and confused. He just shot a sideways glance to Dylan and cocked an eyebrow.

Dylan made an effort to continue, "You see," he went on, "The ends are all we have so we justify our means through them, no matter how nonexistent they are. We just live means to an end."

"So?" Spike repeated, "Why I am alive?"

"Because the end is bullshit," Dylan spat out a little faster and harsher, "an end is still and end, and there's no fucking point in writing a book after the end, even if they _did _live happily ever after. You can't write more chapters, you just read it again, and it's not even as good, all that you want to remember is the first time it happened. See Spike, after the end, the only thing worth remembering are the means, but we don't have that Spike, you do."

Spike cocked his eyebrow up at him, he wasn't really sure if this was the definition of his life, but it did remind him of something. It clicked in his head suddenly, and then he slowly began muttering the last piece of advice he could remember, "Men only look back on their lives right before they die, as though they were trying franticly to prove they existed." 

"See, you both understood," Dylan said calmly, "You just never knew it, the means justify the end, they make it – it's all that's worth knowing, and it's all that's worth remembering, and despite what people want to believe, they aren't there to be forgotten. Do you understand?"

Spike sighed, "Yeah I understand, _as If_."

Dylan looked back at him, "Don't expect me to have all the answers either man, all I'm trying to say is maybe you need to reevaluate something, maybe that's why were here."

"Like what?" said Spike, feeling more than a bit put off again.

"Remember how you were told that 20th century television was brilliant, but yours was garbage."

"Yeah," Spike said chuckling.

"It ain't all bullshit," Dylan replied with an equal chuckle, "I can't imagine you guys have much in the way of exciting drama, what's the need? You've got it right in front of you, we have drama – and I know you – I know the story of your life, because drama is vacant from our world. We don't real have anything of meaning, nothing really happens, so we just make it up. You've got no need bullshit, your life's worth watching." 

Spike sighed again, lighting a cigarette "I thought this was just a dream, what do you want from me? Do you want me to love and acknowledge some sorta brilliance in my life, or my world? Do you expect me to change or something?"

Dylan grew red with frustration until he spat it out, "This isn't a damn dream Spike! You are the fucking dream! If dreamed this whole pile of shit up it's because I wanted in…"

"What?" asked Spike flatly blowing smoke out of his nose.

Dylan felt smaller suddenly, smaller so he could look up at Spike watching him casually take another drag from his cigarette, "I wanted in on it." He said with utter sadness in his voice, tears welling up in his eyes, "Were not here for you, you can't change, and god bless you for it, it would ruin it all if you ever did. You don't need change, you're beyond any sort of answers, you're better then all this." Dylan sighed once more to himself "We're not here because you don't appreciate the means we're here because I can't take the end, because I'm weak, and your not, and I wanted part of that. You had the means and one way or another you found an ending, so we're not here because you needed some sort of value for your world, were here because I can't find any meaning in mine."

Spike just started back, unknowing of how to react, but Dylan just kept going, "See I have to fear the ends, because I never lived by the means, but you embraced them because you lived by something, and I wanted in on that," Dylan was stuttering now tears dripping slightly from the corner of his eyes, "I wanted some sort of control of my own life, something to believe in, something worthwhile to be part of, it's just like the movies you know? In my script there weren't any good parts, so I tried to go to another set, but it's all bullshit really, and I could never belong here, it's better than I am, that's why I love it so much. I was looking for a way in but you know better than anyone else – there is no door." 

Spike sighed slowly, hoping he had something worth telling him, "You can't be missing that much, I'll promise you that."

Dylan wiped the tears from his eyes smiling, "If you only knew, you were out looking for 'true sadness', but you don't know what true sadness is. It's not watching your long lost love die in your arms, as the tears pour down your cheeks, that's bliss, sadness is watching that on television, moved to tears, and wondering exactly why you exist," Dylan spat out choked up wiping the remaining drops from his eyes, "No Spike, you don't know, you always had meaning, and when it died, you bravely went with it, but I'm left here forever watching reruns, because _I'm still alive_, not you, because you always had the faith."

Spike wanted to chuckle, or cry, or just react some how, but this kid was right about one thing -- he couldn't understand, but for all that he thought he should have something worth saying, "I never thought of myself as faithful," Spike began, searching for a way to pass on whatever he saw in this world back to him, "but you've put an awful lot of faith in me, if you have that much faith, maybe there's faith for you too."

Dylan just grinned dryly, a hollow empty stare, so alone, so out of place, like a black in white photo in the middle of color collage. He stared at him like every infant so hopelessly glued to and love with the television, and from that hollow dry stare he sighed his last words, "You really don't understand, do you Spike?" he said, "Don't you get it? We don't have faith," Dylan said slowly, pausing for the last time, "We don't need faith, we have entertainment." 

With that, Dylan turned, and he walked back into the fog.

WELL A YOUNG MAN AIN'T GOT NOTHING IN THE WORLD THESE DAYS…


	5. The End or Somthing Like that

Dylan rummaged franticly through his chair till he found the remote. The bowl of popcorn in front of him glistened with the reflection of the dim glare of the TV in the otherwise dark room. It had been a relatively useless day really, he had a whole list of things that should have been done but he managed to drag through the day without raising a limb in the effort to do anything remotely productive. His days were becoming wasted periodically really. A slow blues dirge began to rupture from the speakers of the television and his attention began to drift away. 

_Why in Gods name am I still alive?_

He really was wasting his days.

_What happened to the dream?_

He was going to bed to early and getting up to late. 

_It was supposed to end._

Nothing productive was really coming out of him lately -- it was getting embarrassing. 

_All things stop and start – don't they?_

He really had more work to do.

_ Isn't that just part of being human?_

But he was just going through the days because he could. 

_I was ready – I was done with it all – the book had been closed._

There was no direction lately and he wasn't sure that the long road ahead was imaginable.

_Here I am though, trying to write chapters to a finished book._

He knew the hopelessness of waiting for life to happen. 

_When you've been dead for so long – it's hard for being alive to mean anything._

But the world seemed too cynical for hope anyway. 

_That's just the problem though isn't it?_

He probably shouldn't be eating so much -- that was it -- with his low amount of activity the popcorn was really over the line. He needed to do something.

_I'm just watching a dream aren't I?_

But there wasn't really much else to do. Dreaming was really the only productive thing anymore. But it didn't matter really; Dylan knew better that to waste his thoughts on this philosophical obsession – and besides…

_Nothing means anything._

Man, this was going to be a great episode. 


	6. Last Little Note

Right well that's the end! Anyway if anyone has any questions or stuff, just leave em in the review and I'll replace this with some answers regarding pretty much anything.


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